“Beryl and I did not say anything to Constable Gibbs about your conversation with Mr. Cunningham. Even if we had, she wouldn’t have believed us. She warned us off the case and we have not had any contact with her about it since we found Mr. Cunningham’s body.” Her hopes grew as he leaned towards the bars once more.
“So what did you want to ask me? I think I should warn you that I won’t answer if I don’t like your question.”
“I am not convinced you are the one responsible for Mr. Cunningham’s death,” Edwina said. “The constable has a tendency to leap on the easy answer. She did that even as a girl in primary school. She said she checked with the colliery and you were not on shift when Mr. Cunningham was killed.”
“That’s not a question,” he said.
“What I wanted to know was whether or not you have an alibi for the time of Mr. Cunningham’s death. Can anyone else vouch for your whereabouts?”
Martin Haynes’ jaw muscles tightened and Edwina noticed his knuckles whiten as he tightened his grip on the bars. “I can’t tell you anything other than that I didn’t have anything to do with Cunningham’s death.”
“So no one saw you at the time of his death? You spoke to no one? Saw no one with whom you are acquainted?” she asked.
“I didn’t say that. I simply said I can’t tell you about where I was or whom I was with at the time of the murder. I can only say I had nothing to do with any of it,” he said. “I’m going to hang, ain’t I?”
Edwina heard a noise at the end of the hall and took a step back from the window. Constable Gibbs appeared at the far end of the corridor, a scowl on her face.
“I thought you said that you were heading for the WC,” the constable said. “You do not have permission to speak with the prisoner. It’s time for you to leave.” Edwina took one last look at Martin’s pinched and tired face. She hurried back down the hallway, gathered up her camera equipment, and headed out the door.
Chapter 30
While it was not her favorite thing to do, Beryl was capable of sitting in one spot for hours on end awaiting whatever was meant to transpire. In fact, she was surprised to discover she had far more patience for the tedium than had Edwina. Perhaps it was all the hours spent in the bush awaiting the appearance of big game. Not that she ever enjoyed shooting at the majestic creatures, but she did find she was willing to sit for as long as it took to catch a glimpse of a lioness and her cubs or a herd of elephants. Perhaps the excitement of sneaking into the back of the police station had still not worn off. Even though a couple of hours had passed since Edwina had been unceremoniously shown the door by Constable Gibbs, Beryl could not help but notice an unusual degree of restlessness in her fellow detective. Edwina had brought her knitting, a novel, and a flask of tea to keep herself occupied while they awaited their quarry, but still managed to shift almost continually in her seat. She seemed ill at ease with the practicalities of a surveillance mission.
The birds overhead were singing sweetly and the sun was just beginning to dip in the sky although it still gave off a gentle warmth through the windscreen. It seemed impossible to believe that anything as nefarious as a murder investigation could possibly be taking place on such a fine spring evening in the English countryside. She was almost ready to suggest that her friend walk home and leave the job to her when Edwina dropped her knitting needles into her lap and pointed at the colliery gates.
“There she is,” Edwina said, pointing at the figure heading towards them along the road. Miss Chilvers was dressed for the office in a trim skirt suit and a neat little hat. Beryl opened her window and called cheerily to the secretary, “Can we offer you a ride back home?”
“I like to breathe in some fresh air every evening so I’d rather walk. Thank you very much anyway,” Miss Chilvers said.
“We have a few questions we’d like to ask you and we didn’t think you’d like to be overheard at the boardinghouse. But if you’d rather walk we can go on ahead and meet you there. Mrs. Plumptree seems the sort to enjoy all manner of persons dropping by for a chat without a moment’s notice.” Beryl sounded slightly menacing, even to her own ears. She was pleased to see Miss Chilvers turn on her heel and head straight for the vehicle. The younger woman yanked open the back door with ill grace and slid across the bench seat. Beryl and Edwina turned simultaneously to face her.
“We wanted to ask you about your claim that you and Mr. Cunningham were involved in a romantic relationship,” Edwina said.
“What about it? I told you everything there was to know,” Miss Chilvers said.
“You told us you were involved with him but no one else seems to know anything about it,” Beryl said.
“And don’t forget about Mrs. Plumptree,” Edwina said. “She’s absolutely certain that despite her determined matchmaking, you were completely adamant that you had no interest whatsoever in Mr. Cunningham.” Beryl noticed Miss Chilvers shifting uncomfortably in the seat.
“Mrs. Plumptree is a nosy old woman who would have given us no rest if she had any idea about our private business,” Miss Chilvers said. “I couldn’t stand the thought of her prying and asking questions and giving us little glances every time we entered the room.”
“Are you saying that you kept it from her simply because you couldn’t stand for her to know?” Edwina asked. “That seems like an extreme reaction.”
“You’ve met her. Can you imagine having her cooing at you and asking when you were planning to post the banns? It’s hard enough living under the same roof with that woman when she knows almost nothing about your private business. It would have been absolutely intolerable to have been the focus of her constant, nagging speculation,” Miss Chilvers said. “Not only that, but we decided not to tell her because not only would she have chattered about it nonstop to us, she would have spread gossip throughout the village.”
“Would that have mattered so very much?” Beryl asked.
“It would have to my employer,” Miss Chilvers said. “Mr. Ecclestone-Smythe is the sort of man who wants an unmarried, completely unattached secretary. He wants to imagine that he is the only man of any importance in her life. It’s a harmless fantasy but one that makes it impossible to remain in his employ if he hears reports of any sort of romantic involvements whatsoever. It would make it all the worse if the object of my affection were also in his employ. That would have made it impossible for him to ignore the relationship.”
“Did Mr. Ecclestone-Smythe actually tell you this was a condition of your employment?” Beryl asked.
“He implied as much,” Miss Chilvers said.
“I noticed Mr. Ecclestone-Smythe looked as though he had eaten some bad prawns when we were at the colliery office and it came to light that you and Mr. Cunningham lived at the same boardinghouse,” Edwina said.
“Indeed. When he hired me he asked about my personal life and told me that he had terminated the employment of his last secretary because she had become involved with an unsuitable young man. He then went on to say that he couldn’t think of any sort of man that would be suitable for someone worthy of being his secretary,” Miss Chilvers said.
“It seems rather unfair,” Beryl said. “Did he make any unpleasant advances towards you?” Beryl noticed Edwina dropping her eyes to her lap as though the topic made her uncomfortable. It would be best for Ed, Beryl thought, if she could soon get over such scruples.
“Mr. Ecclestone-Smythe comported himself no better and no worse than any other employer I have ever had. The best I can say is that he never actually chased me around my desk. Not that he could have kept up with me had he tried,” Miss Chilvers said. Beryl was inclined to agree with her assessment of Mr. Ecclestone-Smythe’s fitness for frolicking. He was sadly encumbered by a bushel basket-sized belly and disproportionately short limbs. She doubted if he had caught up with Miss Chilvers his arms could have extended far enough past his rotundity to do much damage to her person.
“Do you think it’s possible that that is what Mr. Ecclestone-Smythe and
Mr. Cunningham were arguing about the day before your fiancé went missing?” Edwina asked. “Could Mr. Ecclestone-Smythe have found out about your relationship?” Miss Chilvers leaned back against the seat with a pensive look on her face.
“I hadn’t considered our engagement might be the source of the row. I had assumed that they were arguing about something to do with the business itself. But now that you mention it, I suppose that could also make sense,” Miss Chilvers said.
“Do you think it’s possible that Mr. Cunningham tried to blackmail Mr. Ecclestone-Smythe into turning a blind eye to your relationship by telling him he knew his business secrets?” Beryl said.
“A week ago I would not have thought him capable of such a thing. But then, a week ago I would not have thought he could have gone and gotten himself killed over anything whatsoever,” Miss Chilvers said. “At this point, I have no idea what to think about anything at all. Except for the fact that Mrs. Plumptree will have even more questions for me than usual if I arrive late for dinner.”
“Would you like for us to give you a ride?” Edwina asked.
“Certainly not. Then I would be early and that would lead to even more questions,” Miss Chilvers said. She slid across the back seat and wrenched the door handle with a slim hand. Miss Chilvers paused as she opened the door to get out. “You don’t really suppose Mr. Ecclestone-Smythe is the one that murdered Lionel, do you?” Miss Chilvers asked.
“I would say it’s decidedly a possibility,” Beryl said. “If I were you I would keep on the good side of your employer for the time being,” Beryl said before turning back around in her seat. She lifted a hand in farewell to Miss Chilvers then started the automobile and pulled out onto the main road.
“I think there just might be another possibility,” Edwina said. Despite her rather sheltered existence Beryl had found her friend to have a keen understanding of the motivations of others. Perhaps it was an innate skill or one she had developed over the years spent tending to a tyrannical mother. Or perhaps it was the way that all of life in a village was conducted under a microscope and Edwina, having been there so long, had seen a great deal with her eye pressed to the eyepiece, staring at the contents of the petri dish that was Walmsley Parva. No matter what explained it, Beryl was always glad when Edwina put forth her own theories about a case.
“Which is?” Beryl asked.
“I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if Miss Chilvers found out that her fiancé was seeing another woman and she killed him in a fit of jealous rage,” Edwina said. “Although I do wonder if she was capable of stabbing him in the chest. She isn’t a very large person, after all.”
“In my experience a successful stabbing is more a question of either skill or luck rather than brute force,” Beryl said. Edwina turned to her friend with a look of amazement on her face.
“How would you come to know a thing like that?” Edwina asked.
“When one spends much time rattling around by oneself in the depths of unknown parts I have found it best to be skilled with a knife as well as a firearm. I’ll tell you all about it on the way back to the Beeches.”
Chapter 31
Charles arrived promptly at eight. It was just like him, Edwina thought, to arrive for an evening of bridge at a friend’s home dressed as though he was headed for a day in court. His shoes gleamed, his hair lay tidily upon his head courtesy of some manner of odiferous cream; he even wore a necktie knotted neatly at his throat. She ushered him into the sitting room where a card table and four chairs sat cozily near the fire. Beryl presided over the drinks tray mixing up some sort of American-style cocktail.
“Charles, so glad you could join us and make up a fourth for the rubber,” Beryl said. “What can I fix you? Edwina has recently discovered she is partial to gin fizzes. I’m having a dry martini.” Edwina was surprised when Charles took a step towards the drinks tray. It was a rarity for him to imbibe.
“I’ve always wanted to try a martini,” Charles said. “I think I should like to have one if it’s not too much trouble to make.”
“But Charles, you almost never drink anything stronger than a lemon squash,” Edwina said.
“Somehow, Edwina, it seems as though I should venture into new realms. After all, if you two ladies can start yourselves up in a new business, and one as adventurous as a private enquiry agency, surely even a stuffy old solicitor like myself could manage to try an American cocktail,” Charles said with a smile.
“That’s the spirit, Chaz,” Beryl said, giving Charles the benefit of one of her most winning smiles. “How many olives?” Beryl asked, holding up a jar.
“However many you recommend. I put myself completely in your hands,” Charles said.
“I knew I liked him,” Beryl said, turning towards Edwina and winking extravagantly. “Always go with three. All the best things come in threes.” Beryl turned back to her cocktail tray and began to measure and add quantities of clear liquids to a silver shaker. Much rattling ensued and Edwina did not hear the knock on the door. Fortunately Crumpet did. He went racing down the hall barking and alerting everyone within that another visitor had arrived.
“That must be Archie,” Beryl said. “Will you get the door while I finish up with Charles’ drink?” Edwina hurried down the hall and popped open the door. Archie stood on the stoop looking nothing like the other gentleman that made up the foursome. If he had ever been wearing a tie he had lost it somewhere along the way. His shirttail flapped in the slight breeze and his shoes looked more built for calisthenics than for polishing.
“I hope I’m not late,” Archie said. “I got so lost in the story that I was writing up about Constable Gibbs that I completely forgot the time.”
“Are you really going ahead with the article about Constable Gibbs?” Edwina asked. “I thought that was simply a ruse to get me in to speak with Martin Haynes?”
“That’s what I thought it was at first,” Archie said. “But it turns out your Constable Gibbs is a fascinating woman. I think it’s exactly the sort of human-interest story that will sell to a London paper. Frankly, I’m surprised no one thought to interview her before now. It’s turning out to be an extraordinary story.”
Edwina was not entirely sure what she thought about the idea of Constable Gibbs appearing in a London newspaper. In her opinion the constable was far too conceited about what her job entailed without the sort of accolades a newspaper article would heap upon her head. She didn’t suppose she had anything she could say about it however. Besides, if Archie were able to sell the article to a London newspaper, it might help him to secure a permanent position. He was quite a nice young man and it would be good to see him succeed.
Archie followed her down the hall to the sitting room. Introductions were made all around, and in only a matter of moments the four of them were seated around the card table each with a drink of their choosing and a hand of cards in front of them. It became obvious from the start that Archie was an excellent card player. Beryl had suggested that Archie and Edwina pair up and that she and Charles do the same. Edwina felt that Beryl had gotten the shorter end of the stick. She had played bridge with Charles many times and had always found him to be surprisingly erratic at the card table. He tended to overplay his hand or to be far too cautious in his betting. His instincts were entirely off no matter which direction he leaned. Edwina had never played a rubber, partnered with Charles, which had turned out triumphantly.
After the first rubber and one or two more rounds of drinks, Edwina noticed Charles’ bridge playing had improved considerably. She found herself surprised by the number of tricks Beryl and Charles had accumulated. He had even managed a grand slam. Edwina looked at him in shock. At first she considered it was Beryl’s influence that was bringing out the best in his play. Then a far more interesting thought occurred to her. Perhaps Charles had always dialed back his abilities in order to make her feel more at ease. Edwina considered herself a decent player and perhaps Charles had not wanted to outshine her.
Beryl ha
d been telling her for months that she suspected Charles Jarvis would like nothing better than to convince Edwina to become his wife. Edwina had dismissed the notion out of hand partly because she had known Charles for so long and he had never given any indication to her of any sort of romantic feeling. If she were to admit the truth, to herself, if no one else, she would also have to say that Charles had always seemed just the teensiest bit stodgy.
Edwina’s life had always seemed to her to have been a small one and in her heart of hearts she really did wish for a bit of adventure. What finer adventure could there be than a tumultuous romance with an exciting stranger? Charles never seemed the sort to provide that kind of experience. And no one could argue he was not a stranger. Although this evening his bridge playing had improved to such a degree that he might well have been one. The thought flitted through her mind that had she seen him in fancy dress she would not have been able to recognize him from his playing alone.
The game became quite heated as the pairs kept overtaking each other for a lead in points. Edwina felt her face flush and her pulse racing. There was nothing like a rousing game of bridge to remind you that you were alive, even if the stakes were only matchsticks. By the time they completed the second rubber Edwina felt she required a bit of a break. She had prepared some light snacks for their guests and went to the kitchen to fetch them. Just as she lifted a damp tea towel from the platter of sandwiches, a knock landed on the scullery door and Simpkins hurried in without being invited to enter.
“Simpkins, I cannot imagine which jobs need doing in the garden at this time of night. What are you doing here?” Edwina asked. More than likely he hadn’t yet had his tea. Honestly, that man had an unnerving sense when it came to refreshments on offer at the Beeches.
Murder Flies the Coop Page 20